


Just Molly

by 2babyturtles



Series: Sherlolly Flashes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Death, Domestic, F/M, Family, Grief/Mourning, Love, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 02:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11819163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2babyturtles/pseuds/2babyturtles
Summary: Sherlock and Molly make a trip to the doctor after a very peaceful night together.





	Just Molly

Breathing deeply, Sherlock drinks the scent of Molly’s hair, tickling his nose while she sleeps. He had thought of moving his head away but decided it was nicer to be close to her and uncomfortable, than further away and comfortable. John said that would change but he doubts it. She’s far too perfect. 

Of course, she’s not perfect at all. The other day she’d been entirely too moody, and he’d had no idea how to respond. She seemed happier when he brought her tea, though, so that seemed to be an important tool to keep in mind. He smiles softly, thinking of how long they’ve been together: entirely not long enough. He wonders briefly if he might hear three heartbeats in the room if he had better hearing, and smiles against Molly’s neck. 

“Molly,” he whispers when she moves enough for him to know she’s not in deep sleep. 

“What is it, Sherlock? Is everything okay?” Her voice is thick and groggy and utterly perfect. He knows she’ll use that voice for a little one soon and smiles again. 

“Can I hear its heartbeat?” 

She rolls over to look at him, hair clinging to the side of her face where she’s been sleeping on it. She uses one hand to brush it away and her ring glints in the moonlight from the window. “Right now?” 

He kisses the end of her nose and then nods, looking up at her innocently. His wide eyes are so full of excitement that she can scarcely say no, and she smiles back at him. “I didn’t want to do it while you were sleeping,” he explains, “it is your belly after all.” 

“So you woke me up?” She’d laugh if she was more awake, but for now she simply smiles as she rolls all the way over to lay on her back, one hand moving instinctually to her rounded belly. She nods down at it, giving Sherlock permission, and he moves into a sitting position, leaning carefully over her to place one ear against her stomach. His eyes remain on her face and he’s clearly more awake than she is, now. “Have you slept at all?” 

He shakes his head, not saying a word. There’s a peculiar expression on his face, the sort he gets when he’s seen something truly beautiful. Generally, it’s a face he reserves only for Molly. “I can’t hear it,” he whispers sadly. 

“You probably can’t. Most of the time it’s impossible without a stethoscope or a Doppler.” 

He nods, satisfied with listening to the much stronger pulse of his wife. Just Molly. 

After a few moments, he returns to her side, kissing her gently on the mouth and curling up against her back as she rolls over onto her side again. The moonlight does wondrous things to her eyes as she flashes him another smile and whispers a soft “goodnight.” 

When they wake in the morning, Molly has an odd face on and Sherlock asks if she’s alright. “Of course,” she says, “just feeling a bit bloated is all.” 

He opens his mouth to respond, but closes it again, narrowing his eyes against a comment he decides against making. She nods approvingly and gets dressed. “Mummy!” a little voice interrupts, accompanied by the soft sound of little feet on hard wood. 

“Hello, pumpkin,” Molly responds, crouching as best she can to give the little girl a hug. 

“Do you have to go see the doctor?” she asks, wiping the sleep out of her eyes. “It’s my birthday.” 

“I know, dear, I’m so sorry. But you get to spend the morning with Uncle John and Rosie! Don’t you like playing with Rosie?” Molly smiles at Sherlock, thinking of the last time their young toddler got together with the older child and all the trouble they’d gotten into. No surprise, really, that the next generation of Holmes and Watson were troublemakers. 

“When we get back,” Sherlock adds, scooping her up in his arms and kissing her face. “We will get chips.” 

She nods and smiles a bit and Sherlock puts her back on the floor. A knock at the door at the same time tells them Uncle John is here and Margaret runs off to open it, although she can’t yet reach the knob, let alone turn it. 

“It’ll be okay, right?” Molly asks Sherlock, whispering against the sounds of John, Rosie, and Margaret greeting each other in the other room. 

“Of course.” Sherlock’s voice is full of confidence and Molly smiles, reaching up to kiss him firmly.

 Once dressed for the day, they step out into the living room and thank John for staying with Margaret. “Happy to,” he responds, a smile adorning his worn face. “Margaret’s easy.” He places one loving hand on each of their outside arms and nods, as if he’s approved the image he’s just turned into a memory.

 The drive to the doctor’s office is brief, but Molly can’t help wishing they didn’t have to make it at all. “We could’ve gotten some equipment from the lab and done this at home,” she grouches, adjusting in her seat. “We could’ve had John do it.” 

“We wouldn’t want to ask John to do more than he does. Besides, this way we have a doctor there and ready to help should anything happen,” Sherlock responds, his face serious. 

“Do you think anything’s going to happen?” she asks, voice full of tension and panic. 

“No, dear. Of course not.” That smile. That confident smile. Just for Molly. 

They arrive and are taken back quickly, greeted by a friendly older woman in a sweater. “I wish I could wear my sweater to work,” Molly laughs. “Lab coats are terribly dull.” 

“Oh, are you a doctor?” the woman asks, smiling.

 “No, pathologist! Bit too late for the hospital by the time I see them.” Sherlock chuckles but the doctor looks shocked for a moment before forcing a smile.

 “Oh I see….”

 After Molly’s measurements are taken and her vitals checked, they set up the ultrasound machine and Molly rolls up her shirt to reveal her beautiful rounded belly. Sherlock leans across the bed to watch the doctor as she works, absentmindedly leaning down and kissing near the center of Molly’s belly. She reaches up to take his hand and rubs a finger across his.

 “Alright,” the doctor says finally, “let’s see that baby!”

The ultrasound technician steps forward to take his place, gently rubbing goo onto the wand of the device and smearing it across the bottom of Molly’s belly, nodding politely as he does so. At nearly twenty weeks pregnant, this checkup will reveal the baby’s sex and satisfy the worrying minds of the scientist, pathologist, and doctor who will be raising it. The results should be normal, but Molly can’t help her own fluttering heartbeat as she waits for the reassuring sound of her baby’s. Sherlock seems not to breathe at all, holding Molly’s hand firmly and stiffly. 

Soon, the screen reveals a beautiful little baby and Molly releases her pent up breath. “It’s a boy,” she breathes, putting her head back against the pillow and smiling as tears stream down her face. A heavy pulsing sound comforts the woman, who had been so afraid not to hear a heartbeat. “And he’s okay.”

 The tech’s face is furrowed, something Molly hasn’t noticed but Sherlock did immediately. He closes his eyes against an early wave of grief and sinks to his knees beside the bed. 

“Sherlock? Sherlock, what’s wrong?” Molly turns to her husband to see tears on his cheeks, his head turned down and his eyes closed tightly. A terrifying frown, full of pain, cracks his mouth. The sonographer is moving the probe around, trying desperately to find something and seeming terribly dissatisfied. The doctor’s face is grim and Molly has the sudden feeling that she’s the only one in the room who doesn’t understand. 

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the sonographer whispers, trying for a few more minutes before putting back the ultrasound and wheeling it into the hall to clean it and give the couple and doctor some space. 

“What’s going on?” 

“The heartbeat,” Sherlock whispers, pressing his forehead against Molly’s hand. 

“What about it, what’s wrong with it?” 

“It’s yours.” 

The world seems to crack and fall apart, and the memory of her daughter’s shining eyes that morning seems to fade as she realizes she won’t have another set gazing at her anytime soon. Dreams of the little son that had formed so quickly when she’d identified its sex become like tragic memories, or a book she’d read once and couldn’t remember the details of. The nausea she’s been feeling throughout her pregnancy seems suddenly tripled as she feels the unmistakable pain of grief. 

“I’m so sorry, both of you,” the doctor whispers, tears in her own eyes. “Your baby is deceased.” 

Molly’s breathing seems to stop and the world spins. Her sight blurs as tears flood her eyes and she realizes that she is carrying a dead baby. Her dead baby. Her dead son. 

Sherlock’s cracked sobs wrack him next to her and he moans against the grief that seems to be piercing his chest. Finally, he stands, and leans across the bed to embrace Molly. Just Molly.


End file.
